


Blank Slate

by avespika



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avespika/pseuds/avespika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken bottle of an amnesia agent leaves Clara and the Doctor without any idea who they are or what they mean to one another. </p><p>Vaguely inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer- Tabula Rasa and Star Trek: TNG- Conundrum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank Slate

Once again they’d lied their way to freedom, saved the day, stolen the dangerous artifact, and absconded in the TARDIS. The Doctor was particularly proud of how Clara had managed to smuggle the emperor’s forgetfulness serum away from his guard by concealing the vial in her ponytail. He threw the TARDIS into the vortex and spun around toward his companion.

“Now that that’s over kindly extract that vial from the mess on your head and hand it over.”

Clara brushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t seem to get it- I think it’s stuck in the elastic.”

“Well don’t tug too hard, it would have catastrophic consequences if dropped.”

“I’m not trying to, Doctor, I really can’t get it out. Could you help me?”

The last thing that he wanted to do at the moment was run his fingers through Clara’s hair and attempt to delicately remove a tiny flask of an amnesia agent. Coming that close to her tended to result in distractions, like the lovely but subtle vanilla scent of her shampoo and daydreams about how she might fit so neatly into his arms. Thoughts he certainly shouldn’t allow himself to dwell on those considering, oh, his lifespan, her lifespan, his tendency to attract trouble, her tendency to run into dangerous situations,  and their mutual affection for playing the hero. “Really Clara, is your hair as thick as your brain? Just twist and pull.”

Clara crossed her arms. “Doctor, really. I can’t see the back of my own head.”

“Fine.” He moved to loosen the elastic holding her hair, and the vial, in place. She unconsciously shifted back into his touch. A soft trace of vanilla lingered at his nose. His fingers grazed the vial as it slipped out of Clara’s hair onto the floor below. He heard the tinkle of broken glass. Oh no.

___________________________________________

When he came to he was seated on the ground of a strange room, flashing lights and whirring rotors all around him. Him, was he sure he was a him? He patted his body, looked at his hands. Looked like a male and his mind felt like a male. Whoever he was he had his back against a strange column full of levers. A dark-haired woman was seated next to him, groggily blinking back at him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She rubbed her temples. “You tell me, you’re the one who drugged me.”

“How do I know you aren’t the one who drugged me?” he countered.

“Because I don’t drug people. At least, I don’t think I do. It’s all gone hazy.”

He craned his neck, looked around the odd room, and discovered that broken bits of dark blue glass lay scattered nearby. “Looks like someone dropped a bottle.” The young woman reached for the shards. Instinctively, he threw out an arm and blocked her. “No, those might be dangerous!”

“Or they might tell us what happened,” she countered.

“Or they might make us forget everything we’ve figured out so far. Which, I’ll admit, isn’t very much besides that neither of us know who we are or, I presume, where we are. But still not a risk I want to take.” He stood and leaned over the remains of the bottle, keeping as much distance as he could. “No label anyway.”

“Where else can we start?”

“Maybe we’re carrying something that can tell us something.” He patted his body again. “I’m wearing a coat and it seems to have a lot of pockets. Let’s try that.” He riffled through the pockets. “Ball of twine, bit of chewing gum. A live mouse? What am I, a veterinarian?”

The young woman stood and walked a few paces away. “We should look for a window, try to figure out where we are.”

“Just a moment, I think I’ve found something.” He pulled a small booklet from his pocket and flipped open the cover. “The Doctor, then a plus sign, then Clara,” he read. “That’s all that’s in here. Maybe that’s who we are?”

The woman shrugged. “Suppose it doesn’t matter much until we remember more, so those names are as good as any. Hello ‘the Doctor.’ That’s a title, not a name, a bit pompous. I guess I’m called Clara.”

“Hello Clara. And I don’t imagine I chose to be called that but maybe I am a bit pompous. Do I sound pompous?”

Maybe-Clara titled her head. “You sound Scottish. Are there any mirrors here? I wonder if I see my face if I’ll remember who I am.”  

“I don’t recall seeing one but then again I don’t recall much of anything.”

“Ok, I’ll describe what you look like to you and you do the same for me.”

The Doctor (if that’s really who he was) suddenly felt anxious. He wasn’t sure he could describe this woman appropriately, especially not knowing their relationship to one another. While she was beautiful and she seemed to have her wits about her, for all he knew he could be her father or her brother. He cringed at the thought. No, probably not, he trusted himself not to feel attraction toward his own family.

Clara looked him over. “You look… distinguished. You’re tall and lean.” She stepped toward him and gestured vaguely at his face. “Some lines, I think you might be a bit of a worrier, Doctor. Silver-grey hair, darker toward the back. And the eyebrows. Lots and lots of eyebrows.”

Grey and lines. “Am I old, Clara?”

She smiled at him. “I don’t think I’d say old. Still a fair bit fit.” She winked.

Oh dear, was she flirting with him? If she was he was enjoying it and seeing as she’d just described a man about twenty years her senior that seemed inappropriate. He felt himself blush.

“Describe me now, Doctor.”

“Ok, err, _Clara_. You’re a woman, though I expect you might have figured that out by now.” She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “On the short side. Dark hair that looks like it could use a comb, might want to look into that.” She rolled her eyes. “Round face, over-sized eyes.” He didn’t say captivating, but that was the word that came to mind.

She frowned. “I still don’t remember who I am or, sorry, recognize you.”

“Maybe you were right earlier, maybe getting a sense of where we are would help? I don’t see any windows but that looks like a door.” He crossed the floor in a few quick steps and flung open what appeared to be an entrance to the room. Clara followed him and pushed her head out the door next to his.

Stars glowed all around them. They were supported by nothing, freely floating among bright bursts of distant planets and constellations. He tugged the back of her dress to keep her from leaning further outside, then he pulled the door closed. “We’re in outer space!”

“How did we get to outer space?” she asked.

“Hell if I know. Clara, do you think you’re an alien and you’ve abducted me?”

“‘The Doctor sounds more like an alien than Clara, don’t you think?”

“Maybe I’m Clara then! And besides I’m Scottish, I can’t be an alien!”

“What does being Scottish have to do with anything!” They stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Clara recovered first and spoke. “Ok, so it doesn’t do us any good to get angry with one another since clearly neither one of us knows what’s going on. I suppose we’re in this together. Maybe we ought to try to figure out what we are to each other next?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

He swallowed heavily. “Uh, maybe, I suppose. What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t think we’re related because it doesn’t sound like we look much alike and we’re very different heights.”

“Ok, scratch off family. What else?”

She paused a moment, looking him over again. “I guess we probably don’t hate each other considering neither one us smashed that bottle and ran and I don’t think anyone would voluntarily stick around for memory loss. I think we really are in this together. I’ve got a feeling.”

His palms were suddenly clammy. He gave a small cough to clear his throat and buy himself time to think. “I agree.”

“That paper in your pocket had what might be our names connected with a plus sign, right? That could be almost anything. Certainly a unit, but what kind?”

“We might be friends?” he offered, avoiding her eyes.

“Yes, we could be. But we are travelling together in outer space. Do friends do that?”

“Who else would?” he countered.

“I dunno. Colleagues, maybe, or a married couple.”

“Colleagues then,” he responded as quickly as he could. If they got their memories back he didn’t want to have done anything inappropriate if it turned out their relationship was a formal one. Given the apparent age difference that seemed likely.

Clara furrowed her brow, evidently deep in thought. “Do you think?”

He paused, chewing the skin on the back of his thumb. “Seems logical enough, we must have a reason for being in space. I just wish I remembered how to fly this thing, or where we’re supposed to be headed.”

“I think this ship is bigger than this one room. We could explore a bit, look for clues?”

“Yeah, alright.” Before he could pull away Clara had linked her arm with his and had dragged him down a corridor. After a moment they found themselves in front of a wooden door. Clara push it open and tugged him through.

“A bedroom,” he observed.

“Yes but who’s bedroom, that’s the question."

He passed a mirror and frowned at his reflection. Clara stood next to him, smoothing her hands over her hair. “Is that really me?”

“Yes but it isn’t really too bad, Clara.”

She flipped her hair. “I was thinking it’s quite good.”

“Vanity aside, who’s bedroom and are their any clues to our identity, or why our memories have been compromised, or how to recover?” He bent to examine the space below the bed. No luck.

“You’re all business, aren’t you? I bet I'm the fun one.”

“I'm sure I can be fun, Clara, when I’m not busy trying to save us from amnesia.” He was saying her name an awful lot, wasn’t he? But he loved the sound, rolling his mouth around it, relishing the feel. Clara. A brief flash of memory, Clara driving a motorbike, his arms tight around her. He felt his heart, no, hearts, flutter wildly. They certainly weren’t acting like mere colleagues in that memory. At the very least they must have been close friends, if his mind wasn’t betraying him.  

“I found an album of photographs!” Clara called, bringing him back to reality. She was seated on the bed and waived him over. He sat at a distance but she scooted closer and opened a large album across both of their knees.

The first photos were of Clara and a daft looking floppy haired man. The Doctor scowled at the man’s grin. Perhaps a boyfriend back on earth. After a few pages the idiot was replaced with him, the Doctor, frowning at the camera and waiving Clara off.

“You look like a grumpy owl,” Clara observed.

“And you look like a school teacher. This is pointless, Clara, the photos aren’t telling us anything.”

“Patience, they are so telling us something. They say we’ve apparently known each other for a long time or we’ve at least spent a lot of time together over a short period. Look at all the different settings for these photos.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

She gestured to a series of three photos of the two of them dressed in costumes from different eras. “Looks like we’ve gone to a lot of fancy dress parties.” She looked amazing in every photograph, glowing with energy, eyes brimming with kindness. He found himself hoping he’d been the one who made her so happy.

Next was a picture of the pair of them ice skating across a turquoise lake, the sky in the background a pale purple. “We’ve really been all over,” he marveled.

“And always together.” She smiled. “Do you really think we’re just co-workers?”

He shook his head. While it pained him to be honest he found it would be hard to lie to her. “No, these photos are…” He couldn’t finish.

“Intimate,” she whispered.

“Yes.” That described it perfectly. They were never kissing in the photos and they didn’t seem to touch anywhere that would suggest complete physical closeness. But the snapshots were still undeniably intimate. Private moments between two people. Wondrous scenery but their attention always on one another. A portrait where she was laughing, head thrown back, as he offered her a rare smile. A snap of Clara staring up at a mountain in awe and him, standing behind her, with a matching expression fixed exclusively on her.

She traced her fingers along the pages and spoke softly. “Doctor? I think we might have been in love.”

He felt all the air leave his lungs. She was looking up at him, eyes soft. Somehow he’d convinced this woman, this clever and adventurous woman, to love him. Despite her prior boyfriend, despite his own lined face and sullen demeanor. He felt he might lose his mind trying to recall how he’d won her over. Because whatever he had done he knew it had been worth it and if needed he would do it all again or die trying.

She cuddled closer so he bent and tenderly kissed her forehead. He recalled wondering before how’d she’d fit into his arms. He was pleased to discover they fit together perfectly. Wait, had he asked himself that question before the amnesia or after? She snuggled against him, looked up into his eyes. Clara, his impossible girl. Where had he gotten that word, impossible? He opened his mouth to ask her and found she’d answered for him, pressing her mouth to his and giving a soft sigh of contentment.

He returned the kiss hesitantly at first, flashes of memory coming forward and then dissipating like smoke. Clara, wearing a beaded dress. Clara, surrounded by a mysterious forest. He opened his mouth further, ran his tongue along her lips. Clara, smiling down at him while he played guitar. She nipped at his lower lip. Clara, seated next to him, leaning against his shoulder but coming no closer… oh. He pulled back.

Clara gasped. “Doctor!”

He stood. “Clara, I’m so sorry, I forgot, I think we both forgot…”

“Doctor.”

“I took advantage, I apologize, it wasn’t intentional.”

“No. No, you don’t get to back-pedal this time.”

“We were confused.”

“But the photos.”

“We’ve seen the photos before, Clara, we were even there when we took them. We don’t. I can’t.”

“Pretty sure you just did.”

He blinked back tears. “Clara, you have to understand, I can’t.”

“No, Doctor. It took forgetting me entirely for you to see us properly, didn’t it? A complete blank slate. But look at me now, look at those photographs. Because this is an opportunity and I’m done hiding it from you. You can love me or you can leave me behind but you can’t keep pretending you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

A memory again, this time only a few moments old, the memory of promising himself he’d do anything in his power to make sure he stayed worthy of her love. And here he was doing precisely the opposite, driving her away. Maybe he was better off forgetting. Confusion flooded through him and he felt his limbs and jaw go slack.

Clara took his hand and guided him back down onto the bed. “Doctor. Just in case you ignore everything I just said, just in case this is the only chance I ever get. I love you. Then and now. I love you.”

He closed his eyes against her words, fighting to ignore them. But she fit with him so well, physically and emotionally. It was a losing battle. He opened his eyes.

“Clara,” he called weakly. 

“Right here.” She squeezed his hand.

He sighed. “Clara, I remember all of it. And there are so many reasons I shouldn’t say it. But I made myself a promise, when I’d forgotten you.”

“What promise?”

“That whatever I’d done to make you look at me like that I’d do it again and again because you were so clearly worth it.” He stroked her cheek and tipped her chin up, cautiously pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against his mouth.

“Clara, my Clara,” he mumbled against her, fingers tangling in her hair.

“Yes Doctor?”

“I love you.”


End file.
